Wrong
by Jennie-x
Summary: Everything in his life is wrong. He knows that now. Suicidal Themes. You've Been warned.


**I really don't know why I wrote this. I was feeling particularly 'emo' and I guess writing has stopped me doing something stupid. I don't know if you'd appreciate me posting this, but who cares. Spoilers – cyberwoman. **

Warning – Angst. Suicide. I writ it in half an hour so excuse all the mistakes you find.

He knew it was wrong. He watched as the blood made beautiful patterns along his pale wrists. He knew it was wrong. But it felt so right. Tears mixed with the beautifully dark blood. He watched, mesmerised by the patterns, by the pain. It was wrong. Yet that didn't make him stop. It simply urged him to continue. Everything in his life was wrong – he knew it now. Ten years too late. But he finally knew it. He was wrong.

The blood dried to dirty scabs on his wrists, and it wasn't so beautiful any more. It looked wrong. He did it again. A sharp motion with a broken razor and suddenly everything felt right again. Staring at the blood he knew it wasn't deep. Deep enough to hurt but not sharp enough to scar. Within a couple of months they would just be faint lines that he could pass of as anything, leaning on his shirt too long, or sleeping at a funny angle. Lies that felt so right, covering up something so wrong. Yet he still couldn't stop.

He was fifteen when he first realised he was wrong. His first love. His first kiss. First times that should have made his heart skip, instead made his heart break. Because even then, he knew he was wrong. His dad told him he was wrong. Yelled so loud he hoped his son had got the message. His mum simply stopped looking at him like he was her son. Her only son. Instead he was the fifteen year old boy who lived in her son's bedroom. But he was wrong. He didn't understand at first. It was love, something that was so beautiful yet to his parents, to his friends, to everyone it was ugly and something that brought shame on his life. His love was wrong.

That's when his life went wrong. When he drifted. Trying to find a place in the world that made everything feel right. His first wrong love didn't last, because he knew it was wrong too. So he left, in search for something that wouldn't make his heart ache, his family hate him, his friends disown him. He needed to find something right. He never did.

A year later he thought he had finally found something. A job. Sixteen he hadn't had any qualifications, he was an average teenage boy. Nothing special, nothing right. Just, wrong. But his job – a waiter at a small coffee shop. He was liked by his colleagues, his boss seemed to like him enough to make him feel wrong again. But the way he smiled at him he sometimes thought maybe it was right. But then he had met the bosses wife, children, and he felt wrong again. He left the world he thought was right and drifted again. Still searching. Still missing the feeling that was needed, yet he hadn't found anything. His whole life just felt wrong.

But then Torchwood came along. Picked him from the streets. Looking for people who didn't fit in, who wouldn't be missed. Trained him to be a soldier. He was good with numbers, papers, because they were right. Numbers couldn't lie to him. They always had an answer that was always right. So they used him in the archives. And he started to feel right. He trusted the numbers because they told him the truth. One add One made Two. Two add two made four. He always knew what was coming next. And he soon felt right. Then he met her, and he knew it was right. His new friends wasn't ashamed of him. When he kissed her in public he didn't feel hated. He felt loved. Adored. Admired. Because for once in his life, he had something that was right.

But then when everything was beyond right – boarding on perfect. Everything went wrong. His life was turned upside down by metal monsters, salt and pepper pots who had the need to kill. Even the monsters seemed right because they had a purpose. To exterminate or to delete. Nothing else, no emotions. He envied them, they had no sense of wrong or right. Part of him wished he had been converted that day. For his emotions to leave him and he'd be an armoured soldier doing what came natural. With no feelings of being wrong. But they got her instead. Only not completely. She was wrong. Half metal, half human. The first thing he thought was right was wrong. And he had to save her. Had to hold onto the feeling of something right because he was scared to be wrong again.

So he lied, cheated, begged, stalked, pleaded, and he knew it was wrong. Knew he had become nothing less than a part time shag and he knew what they shared was wrong. But he was doing it because it was right. He had to save her. Make her right again. Make him right again. But his plan, like everything else in his life had gone wrong.

She was nothing more than a monster. She too only understood the terms of deletion. And again he found himself wishing to be the armoured soldier with no sense of emotion. Because then he could be right again. In his own world, own metallic world. He would be right. But they killed her. After she had tried to kill him, the team, managed to kill the pizza girl. He knew she was wrong. He felt wrong because he put people in danger. He had killed a young girl. And he knew it was wrong.

He wanted Jack to kill him. Because in death all there was, was blackness. Like the armoured soldiers death had no sense of right and wrong. But he was still alive. Jack had kept him alive. And it was the right thing to do. Because being alive meant he was being punished. And that's what he deserved. So once again he was right again.

He hadn't been fired. He still had a purpose. But he knew that wasn't enough. Because they all looked at him like he was wrong. Jack looked at him like he was wrong. That's why he had stopped going to work. And he knew it was wrong. He had a duty, not a responsibility like Jack and the others, but he had a job. And not going into work was wrong. Yet he found himself huddled in a messy heap on his bed. Crying blood stained tears as he realised how wrong he was about everything.

With anger he cut again, sharper, deeper, not caring about how wrong it was, or how right it felt. Because his emotions were something that couldn't be put down to a simple wrong or right. Because what he felt right then was too complex to be labelled.

His love for Christian wasn't wrong, though nor was it right. It wasn't lust or sexual desire it was love. And all love was right because it had to be. Without love life wasn't life. It was an existence. His family, friends, everyone thought it was wrong because they were confused. The meaning behind his teenage love finally made sense. And he regretted leaving. If he stayed then he wouldn't be where he was. He didn't know if he would be happy. He doubted they would still have been together. Ten years is a long time for a teenage love to survive, but there was always the hope. But what good was hoping when he had no control over time. He had left and he had moved on. Dwelling in the past was wrong because he knew it wouldn't change anything. His love wasn't wrong. His family was.

His love for Lisa was perfect. Right in every single way. Blissful to the point of heaven. What happened to her was wrong. What he had seen that was wrong. What he had done to try and save her was both right and wrong. Right – because he wanted to save her. Wrong – because he was selfish. Needing to save her to hold onto the feeling of feeling right.

But his life now. Could that be tagged with right and wrong? Torchwood – both right and wrong. Torchwood one was wrong in every single way. But Torchwood three, they exist to save people. That had to be right. But was the intentions of the organisation the same as what his had been to save Lisa. Selfish, the need to do it because they too have to feel like they are doing something right. He'd never know that answer. It was a mystery and one that made his head ache. His job wasn't important, and he knew it. Yet it was right because it gave him a purpose. Wrong because it made him feel empty.

He knew he was wrong again. Everything about him still felt wrong. So he cut deeper. Not caring of the consequences. He knew there was only one thing left to do now. He knew it was wrong. But it felt so right. So he cut five letters into his arm, making sure to hit a vein every time. Because it felt right. He watched with a sadistic smile as the blood made the pattern of everything he felt.

Wrong.

He let death wash over him, because like the armoured soldiers.

Death didn't care if you were wrong.


End file.
